Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Cavin’s fine,” I say with an eye roll.
She's giggling a little now, shaking her head. “I know a couple of the nurses on this floor, from when I was here. They let me spend the night. I was falling asleep in the chair, so they gave me one of those.” She nods toward the recliner. “Folds out. Your mam came by while you were still under. Wanted to see you. Your da was here but had to go. He’ll be back again.”
“Right,” I say, nodding, my eyes heavy again.
She stands and begins adjusting the recliner, refolding the blanket with the efficient movements of a woman who grew up knowing hospital routines by heart. A nurse appears in the doorway.
“Oh, you’re awake. Let’s get you sorted. And Bridget, the doctor’s here to see you.”
“Right, yes, I'll be right out.” She looks strangely flustered. She never gets flustered. “I decided, since I was already here, I might as well follow up. I heard back from Rosenberg, and he has a colleague on staff. I can—I'll just—” She's already moving toward the door. “Be right back.”
Good, I want her to follow up. But when I watch her go, I feel as if something is off. Bridget is an open book—she always has been—all flashing eyes and quick tongue, nothing hidden for long. But just now, she looked like a woman who didn't want me asking questions.
The fuck is that all about?
Slowly, my head throbbing against the bright light, I turn back to my phone and begin working through the messages. But I keep thinking about the way she wouldn't quite meet my eyes. My girl has never been difficult to read… until now.
As I’m trying to get to my feet, Bridget comes back into the room. “Declan. You were meant to stay seated. The doctor said no strenuous exercise.”
“You're very cute when you're stern.” I smile at her. “But you're not going to get that way with me, Bridge.”
“Oh, you just wait,” she says, but she's about as terrifying as a small child, and I can hardly school my features into anything resembling gravity. Her brow is furrowed, her chin lifted, the full performance of authority from a woman currently wearing a fitted white tee with an image of six-pack abs and a lacy bra on it.
“If you don't sit down, I'm putting you back in bed,” she says, marrying her words with a look that is meant to be withering but lands somewhere closer to adorable. “If you don’t, I'll call Cavin back.”
I’m biting the inside of my cheek.
I try to scoff, but Cavin, when he gets going, is genuinely difficult to deal with. There's a reason the man runs half of Ballyhock without raising his voice.
“And your father,” she says, laying on one threat after another, pulling them out like cards from a deck. I notice she's got her mobile in her hand. “Cormac is on my recent calls.”
When I don’t comply, she tacks on another. “And Seamus,” she finishes.
Oh, for Christ's sake. Between my father, Cavin, and Seamus, she's assembled the three men most capable of making my life a misery without breaking a sweat. I have to go back to bed.
“Good job,” she says, with a smile and a fucking hair flip. Why does she have to be so cute about it? It feels wrong—relying on her like this, letting her fuss over me when I know the reality of what's between us—knowing what's waiting for me on the other side of this hospital room.
I shouldn't be this glad to have her here. I shouldn't be living for a sliver of her approval, like it's the only light in the room. It's dangerous. All of it.
“Your mother’s sweet,” she says with a smile. “I wouldn’t get her involved with harnessing your arse.”
“My mother? When were you talking to my mother?”
“When you were passed out. I never did get my ice cream, so she bought me some.”
I stare at her. “Really?”
“Really.” She's grinning now—bright and warm and entirely too pleased with herself.
“Ice cream?”
“Aye,” she confirms. “I'll get you some if you behave yourself and stay in bed.”
“Fine.” I wag a finger at her from my very dignified position against the pillows. “But I won't forget you bossin’ me around.”
“You'll forget this,” she says, because she knows me well enough to know I absolutely will not. “Besides, you're not mine to remember things, are you? Friends. Just friends.”
Pushing herself to her feet, she brushes her hands against her legs as if straightening the fabric. “I’ll… go get you something to eat?”
I nod. “Please.” When was the last time I ate?
Just friends. Why have I never hated those words more in my life?
Just friends. Right. Grand.
I don't have long to sit with it. The nurse appears in the doorway a few minutes later, adjusting something at the end of my chart, then looks up with a practiced smile.